


Too Busy Being Yours To Fall

by ignatiustrout



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, Friends With Benefits, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4633902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignatiustrout/pseuds/ignatiustrout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they have sex, it’s Harry’s twenty-third birthday, and somehow “drinks with friends” becomes “being pinned to the wall of his bedroom by Draco Malfoy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I stole my title from the Arctic Monkeys' "Do I Wanna Know." I was thinking I'd come bursting onto the scene after nearly three years with some spectacular big fic, but instead I wrote porn. I will probably continue writing this as an ongoing thing, but I am making it low pressure for myself, so who knows when! Mostly I just want to write low key porn. There are some D/s undertones here but nothing too wild - also some implied alcohol use, but they're tipsy, not Drunk.

The first time they have sex, it’s Harry’s twenty-third birthday, and somehow “drinks with friends” becomes “being pinned to the wall of his bedroom by Draco Malfoy.” 

Harry tries to make fun of Malfoy for going for the wall when the bed’s right there, but Malfoy just says, “This is what I’ve been wanting to do. Shut up.”

Harry wants to bristle at being told to shut up by Draco Malfoy in his own bedroom, but he –– doesn’t. He just lets Malfoy get back to kissing him. Malfoy grips his hips hard, lets his cold fingertips sidle up underneath Harry’s t-shirt; Harry finds he doesn’t really mind how cold they are, after one little jump of surprise. Malfoy pulls back a moment after the jump; Harry just shakes his head and grasps Malfoy’s hair tight, bringing Malfoy’s mouth back to his. Malfoy huffs, hot breath like cigarettes and whatever ridiculous colorful drink he imbibed not long ago. 

Harry is lightheaded and Malfoy’s hands are a lot further up his shirt when Malfoy’s lips move from Harry’s mouth to his neck, sucking hard. Harry closes his eyes. He hasn’t kissed anybody like this in a long while. He hasn’t really felt like it. He isn’t desperate for it, or anything, goes through long periods of just not caring about this sort of thing, but it’s nice. It feels nice, and it feels nice to remember that sometimes it feels this way, depending on the person. He didn’t actually consider until tonight that Malfoy could be one of the people it feels good with, but you learn something new every day.

Malfoy bites down, once, making Harry jump, then says, “So.” 

Harry opens his eyes. Malfoy’s neck and cheeks are pink, and he is smiling. It’s a nice smile. His hands fall to Harry’s hips again.

“So,” Harry repeats.

“It’s your birthday,” says Malfoy, thumbs slipped underneath Harry’s shirt, onto his hipbones, “So I suppose we can do anything you want.”

For a moment, Harry is thrown. Malfoy is telling him they can do what he wants? This is the last thing he thinks he’d have expected from sex with Malfoy. 

He looks at Malfoy holding onto his hips, Malfoy in his muggle trousers and sweater, looking flushed and very, very pleased with himself, and Harry recalls the Malfoy he has gotten friendly with over the past couple years and feels –– fine. Comfortable. Like he can just say things. Things like, “I want to make you come.” 

Malfoy quirks an eyebrow. “That’s simple.”

Harry doesn’t know if he was planning this from the start or what, but he responds, tone deliberately light, “Is it simple?”

“Well,” says Malfoy, and swallows. 

“Would it be very easy for me, do you think?” says Harry, bringing a hand to the back of Malfoy’s neck, slipping his fingers up into Malfoy’s hair. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but Malfoy shivers like he likes it, his eyes falling closed. Harry will have to remember that. “Making you come?”

Malfoy makes a small noise that isn’t really an answer, nudging into Harry’s touch. 

“You always seemed a little,” Harry continues, “I don’t know. Like you’d make me work for it.” 

“I just _meant_ ,” says Malfoy, opening his eyes, “It’s your birthday, so _very generously_ , I’d let you do _whatever you wanted_ , and that could have included any number of weird fantasies, and all you say you want to do is _make me come_. I rather hoped I was going to come tonight no matter what you said, and this offer isn’t going to stand, you know, this letting you do whatever you want thing. Normally I get what I want in bed, you ought to know that now. But ‘make me come,’ okay, whatever the birthday boy _likes_.” 

“I like a challenge,” says Harry. He likes the way Malfoy says “you ought to know that now,” the way it implies there will be another time –– he also likes the way Malfoy rambles on, as usual. He didn’t realized he missed it in the quiet of their kissing. 

“I can give you that,” says Malfoy.

“I know,” says Harry, grinning. “You should take your trousers off.”

“You _won’t_ be bossy,” says Malfoy, but he starts to take his trousers off anyway. 

“Because you will?” says Harry. 

“Obviously,” says Malfoy, flinging his trousers off somewhere. 

“I thought,” says Harry, taking off his own shirt, “That you were going to get me what I wanted for my birthday.”

Malfoy’s eyes are on Harry’s torso. Harry feels, for a brief moment, self conscious. Then Malfoy says, “And you said you wanted me to come.”

“I see,” says Harry. “So what’s going to make you come is me doing what you say.” He almost doesn’t say it, some embarrassment is creeping up his throat, but he looks at Malfoy’s face and soldiers on, trying, “Like a good boy.” 

Malfoy goes bright red, but not in an unfavorable way. He is obviously turned on, standing there in his pants. “Merlin,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “You hardly ever have sex and this is what you come out with? I honestly thought you’d just want me to suck you off.”

“Honestly,” says Harry. “I’d like to suck _you_ off.”

“Well,” says Malfoy, blinking. “By all means.” 

Harry likes to suck cock. It’s something he’s liked since the first time he did it, and something he often fantasizes about. It’s hot, and it’s fun, and Malfoy is not a disappointing partner –– he sits at the edge of Harry’s bed and grips hard at Harry’s hair, taking in sharp little breaths when Harry takes him in deep, or comes back up and sucks softly at the head. Occasionally, Malfoy mutters something, something like “Come on,” as though wanting to boss Harry but embarrassed now that it’s time to live up to all the talk. 

Malfoy starts to thrust, shallowly, into Harry’s throat, as though trying to hold himself back. Harry groans; this is the sort of thing he wants from Malfoy. Malfoy lets out a little gasp. He lets go of Harry’s hair, his hands smacking down on the mattress, his fingers clenching the sheets.

“You gonna come, Malfoy?” Harry taunts, letting Malfoy’s cock out of his mouth with a quiet pop, his voice rough. “It’s been so quick.” 

“No,” Malfoy says, teeth clenched, trembling. 

“I think you want to,” says Harry, fingers sliding up and down the shaft of Malfoy’s cock, making sure his breath is right there, on the head. 

“You won’t get what you want so easily.” 

“Hmm,” says Harry. “I don’t know.” He is gentle with his fingers on Malfoy’s oversensitive skin, knowing it’s driving him nuts by the way he’s staring at him, grey eyes blinking furiously and his knuckles white in the sheets. “I think you’re easy, Malfoy,” he says. 

“Don’t be so fucking –– insolent, Potter,” Malfoy bursts out finally, smacking his fingers away. “Who’s giving who a challenge?”

Delighted, Harry smirks. “I don’t know,” he says, “Who is?,” and he licks the tip of Malfoy’s cock, then slides his mouth back on. 

“I’m making you work, don’t you forget it.” Malfoy slaps Harry lightly on the cheek. “Get away from my dick.” When Harry doesn’t fast enough, Malfoy grabs his hair and yanks, pulling him off. 

“Why’s that?” Harry gasps. “Were you going to –– ”

“I w–wanted your –– filthy mouth off me,” says Malfoy, his face extraordinarily flushed, his fingers gripping tight at the base of his cock. His eyes are bright. 

“You wanna come _on_ me, Malfoy?” Harry asks, trying his best for seductive growl, which may or may not work –– he’s pretty sure it’s mostly the words that make Malfoy’s eyes go wide for a brief moment of unguarded surprise. 

Malfoy groans. “Stop talking.” 

“You don’t want to come all over me?” says Harry. Malfoy is still gripping his hair tight, keeping him away. 

“Shut up,” says Malfoy.

“If you let me touch you,” says Harry, languidly touching his own cock, “I bet I’ll have you coming so fast. You could come all over my face.” 

“Fuck," says Malfoy, “Fuck it, come here. Suck my cock."

" _Bossy_ ," Harry says, and it comes out more like a gasp as Malfoy shoves his head down. He doesn’t have time to say anything like “about time,” like he wants to. 

"I told you," says Malfoy. 

Malfoy's fingers grip tight in his hair the whole time, pulling hard now, so it hurts, and Harry finds he doesn’t mind that at all. "That's right, Potter," says Malfoy. "You want me to come? Fine. Suck my – god, fuck." He closes his eyes and yanks hard at Harry's hair. "My cock," he finishes, voice quavering. "Your hair is so stupid," he mumbles nonsensically. "You have awful hair. I'm going to come all over it."

 _Jesus_ , Harry thinks, and makes a soft noise of approval that sounds more like a whimper than he maybe would have liked, but Malfoy's breath catches and his grip tightens and he says, "Yeah," in this deep tone that seems to shoot down Harry's spine, causing the tiniest bit of a shiver. _Yeah._

Malfoy yanks Harry back off his dick, one hand grabbing it himself, one hand still buried in Harry’s hair, holding onto him tightly, painfully. “Fine, you want me to come, I’ll come,” Malfoy babbles, jerking himself, “I’ll come all over your stupid face, but I’m the one making me come, _you_ didn’t –– ” He sucks in a breath sharply and, as promised, comes all over Harry’s face, all in his hair. Harry sits there and just takes it, surprised even though Malfoy told him exactly what was going to happen, even though he asked for it. Draco Malfoy is jerking himself and breathing hard and coming on his face, and Harry is so fucking hard for it.

When Malfoy is done, he collapses back onto the bed, covers his face with his hands, and says, “Fuck.” 

Harry blinks and touches his sticky forehead. 

Malfoy is breathing heavily. “I suppose,” he says, after a moment, “That you feel very pleased with yourself.” 

“I feel pretty good,” Harry admits, looking at the come now on his fingers. “But.” He reaches for his still hard dick, touching it carefully, aware of its sensitivity after all that. “You know, it’s still my birthday.” 

“Not really,” Malfoy mutters from the bed. “I’m certain it’s past midnight by now.”

“So you aren’t going to return the favor?” says Harry. 

Malfoy uncovers his face. “I already gave you what you wanted,” he says. He sits up. “It’s my turn to get what I want.”

“Oh?” says Harry. “Is that how birthday presents work?”

“You never gave me a birthday present,” says Malfoy. “Last month.”

“I guess that’s true,” says Harry. “So what do you want?”

Malfoy bites his lip. “I want you to touch yourself,” he says. His cheeks flush again. “So I can –– watch. With my –– with you –– ” He gestures hopelessly at Harry’s face. 

“With me covered in your –– ”

“In my come, yes,” says Malfoy quickly, as though not wanting Harry to beat him in Ability To Say Sex Things Smoothly. 

Harry allows himself to smirk. “I can do that,” he says. “Budge over.”

He stands, and Malfoy watches his movements, keeps an eye on Harry’s erection like he can’t quite help himself; this makes Harry feel nicer, bolder. He climbs onto the bed and readies himself to spread his legs, and Malfoy slides back, pushes himself up to lean against the headboard, shoving a pillow behind his back and crossing his arms in front of him. “Alright,” says Malfoy, trying to look very aloof, breathlessness giving him away. “Let me see.”

Harry locks his eyes on Malfoy’s and takes his dick back in his hand, kneeling, his legs spread about as much as he can get them in this position. Malfoy watches, eyes flickering between Harry’s cock and the come on his face and his hair. His breath is shallow, and so is Harry’s as he touches himself, slow at first but then unable to take it for too long, too revved up by the blow job and everything else. He jerks himself quickly, trying to quiet his breathing out of habit before realizing this is different, this is a show, and letting himself go, letting his breath come harsh and loud, thrusting into his hand.

“Yeah,” Malfoy blurts out.

“Yeah?” says Harry.

“Yeah –– fuck your hand, like that,” says Malfoy, face all pink, and Harry complies. “Is that –– are you uncomfortable? With my –– when you’re…” 

Malfoy’s come is drying, and it’s gross, but Malfoy is also staring at him with his mouth slightly open like he can’t quite believe how hot he finds the whole thing, and Harry’s good with that. 

“I like it,” says Harry. 

Malfoy bites his lip, chews at it with –– something, anxiety, arousal, Harry can’t quite tell, and then he says, “You love it, don’t you? Talk to me.”

Harry doesn’t know if he has time for that –– he’s going to come any second. He thrusts hard and fast into his fist. “Y-yeah,” says Harry. “I love it.” He’s feeling like he’d probably say anything, at this point, if Malfoy asked him to. 

“What do you love? Tell me.” 

“You –– you watching me, and –– your come on me.”

“What about my come on you?” Malfoy says, eyes dark, his hand traveling down between his legs.

“I love it,” says Harry, thrusting rapidly, focusing mostly on the feeling in his groin, and then he gets it, says, “I love having your come on me,” and then he comes, grunting, on the bed. 

When he’s through they just sort of look at each other for a while; Malfoy’s eyes are bright with intensity. A bit of embarrassment sinks into Harry’s post-orgasm glow, but not nearly as much as he imagined might. Mostly he’s really starting to want a shower, but still rather enjoying the look on Malfoy’s face.

“Well,” Malfoy says finally. 

“Well,” says Harry.

After another beat, Malfoy admits, “I think I’m a little bit in shock.” 

“Are you?” says Harry. “Because –– I’m not, really, when I think about it.” It’s true. Maybe he would have been shocked if he slept with Malfoy five years ago, but now? Ginny’s been insisting that Malfoy’s flirting with him for at least half a year now, and yeah, Harry attributed it to Malfoy being a silly drunk who likes to hit on his friends, but it still isn’t exactly a huge surprise that he’s ended up sucking Malfoy’s dick. Malfoy may hit on most his friends, but he’s certainly very charming about it. 

“Not about –– us sleeping together,” says Malfoy, eyes and cheeks still bright. “About you.” 

“You thought I was all vanilla,” says Harry.

“Well,” says Malfoy. “What was I supposed to think? You’re –– you.” 

“You could have not thought about my sex life,” says Harry, ignoring what he knows is meant as a slight, and when Malfoy’s cheeks go darker, he says, “But you were very interested in it, weren’t you?” 

“Oh, shut up,” says Malfoy. 

“Yes, sir,” Harry jokes, and Malfoy groans. 

“Do not,” he says. “Don’t fuck with me, Potter. I need a shower.” He slides off the bed and stands; he looks down at his naked body and then rises his chin in a sign Harry knows now, one of forced arrogance in the face of embarrassment. Harry doesn’t see any reason for him to be embarrassed. 

“I need a shower more,” says Harry as Malfoy pads along the floor to pick up his clothes. 

Malfoy sighs, stopping. “I suppose I could concede to that.” 

“We don’t have to take turns,” Harry suggests, lying down and rolling over onto his stomach to look at Malfoy, propping himself up on his elbows. “Would I be allowed to fuck with you in the shower?” 

“Oh, god, stop,” says Malfoy. He stands there, eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose for a bit, for no reason Harry understands, and then Malfoy says, “What exactly are you imagining our relationship to each other is now?” He groans immediately, then says, “That came out wrong, as fucking usual, what I mean to say is –– well, I’m not looking for –– not that you’re looking for –– ”

“Are you asking me if I want to have sex again?” Harry asks. 

“Why are you being so stupidly articulate?” Malfoy snaps. “This is not at all like you. Shouldn’t you be less clear headed right now?”

“I’m very special,” says Harry.

“Indeed,” Malfoy says dryly. 

“I’d like to have sex with you again, yes,” says Harry. “If you want. That’s all.”

“Okay,” says Malfoy. “Okay.” He takes a deep breath, looking down at his clothes. “Then –– yes. If you like. You may fuck with me in the shower.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning or an enticement: this chapter includes rimming.

It’s really fucking weird seeing Malfoy again in a normal setting.

Harry’s not exactly embarrassed about what he likes to do in bed, and he doesn’t even think it’s all that strange for him to have enjoyed hooking up with Malfoy — they’re adults now, aren’t they, and Malfoy’s handsome and not exactly as reprehensible as Harry used to imagine. 

And yet none of this makes Harry feel any less flustered seeing Malfoy again in the light of day, with other people around.

As far as everyone else is concerned, this is a normal thing, friends spending time together. They have no idea that one among their number has now come all over another’s face. And then watched him jerk off. And then featured heavily in his thoughts the next few times he jerked off. 

Maybe it’s the fact that Harry’s never had casual sex before. He’s had sex, but with people he was dating at the time, people from whom he knew what to expect.

Harry tries to think about what it was like with Luna. Luna liked to kiss, but she wasn’t interested in sex. At first, Harry was a little baffled, but only because from what he’d heard all around him at school and with friends, people were supposed to do this when they loved each other this way. It didn’t take him long to realize he didn’t really care, that it had no bearing on their romance. In fact, it was his relationship with Luna that was hardest to get over. 

Maybe this is like that a little, only the opposite. Maybe it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t _love_ Malfoy; maybe he can still enjoy this, and maybe that’s okay to feel and to do.

This train of thought does not bring him any closer to speaking to Malfoy tonight. 

Luna has invited friends over for dinner in her yard, and Harry spends his time chatting to Ron, the person here that is least likely to attract a Malfoy. Malfoy is mostly gossiping away with Lavender and Parvati, with whom he has developed a close relationship over the past few years. Harry often overhears them talking quite seriously about things like the tarot. 

When Ron goes off to examine what’s left of the dessert, Luna floats over from where she was talking with Dean to say, “You’re quiet tonight.”

“Am I?” Harry asks, eyes flicking over to Malfoy, who has suddenly snorted and spluttered into his wine glass; Harry can’t tell if Lavender’s shrieks of laughter are with him or at him. 

Luna drops into Ron’s vacant chair and crosses her legs, her long skirt billowing about with her movements. She leans close, peers around his face, and asks, “Is it because of Draco?” 

Harry’s heart thumps rather hard. “Why would it be because of — Draco?” he says, the first name feeling odd coming out of his mouth as it always does. He determinedly does not look back in Malfoy’s direction. 

“Well, you had sex,” says Luna matter-of-factly.

Harry, naturally, chose this exact moment to busy himself with his drink, and now chokes on it, the heat of the alcohol making this incredibly unpleasant. Thankfully he was not as conspicuous as Malfoy, though Luna takes it upon herself to thump him heartily on the back. 

“How do you _do_ that?” he asks, clearing his throat and waving to indicate he no longer needs to be thumped on. 

“You know I’m not omniscient, you silly person,” she says, patting him gently before removing her fist. “ _You_ just don’t use your eyes. Also, Draco told me.” 

“He _told_ you?” says Harry, feeling his face heat. “What exactly did he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me the details, Harry, you know better than anyone I’d really rather not hear about it. He just told me he slept with you and it was quite fun. He probably doesn’t want me to tell you he said anything, especially not that he enjoyed it, but I don’t care, you ought to know, and he’ll certainly never say anything, and then you’ll never get to do something you enjoyed again, because you don’t know how to talk about your feelings. It’s quite exhausting, making sure you lot are all emotionally honest with each other.” 

“Is that really your job?” asks Harry. He knows he’s asked her this before. 

She smiles at him, gently, in the way that used to make him feel like doing cartwheels and now, thank god, just makes him feel quite grounded and fond. “Yes,” she says simply. 

“I don’t have,” Harry says cautiously, “ _Feelings_.” 

“I know from experience that you have feelings, Harry,” says Luna. “And I know you know that, too.” 

“I don’t mean _in general_ ,” says Harry. “I mean — for Malfoy.”

Luna huffs. “I don’t understand the way people use the word ‘feelings.’ You do have _feelings_ for him, it’s just that they’re sex feelings. Those are still feelings, and you still have them, and you _still_ seem unable to talk about them. Unless you didn’t like having sex with him, I suppose. Those’d still be feelings, though.” 

“I did like it,” Harry admits. 

“Well, there you are,” says Luna. “Do you want to do it again?”

“Ugh, Luna,” says Harry. “I wouldn’t say _no_ , I suppose.”

“I think you should ask him to come home with you tonight,” says Luna.

“ _Tonight_?” says Harry.

“Well, here you both are,” she says. “When’ll it happen again?” 

“I don’t know,” concedes Harry. 

“As far as I know he’s only going to go home and sleep with Felix.” 

“Who’s Felix?” Harry says, alarmed; his first thought is of Luna casually inciting a threesome for him, of Malfoy and Luna perhaps _discussing_ the question of whether Harry’d be up for such a thing, and he really doesn’t think so, at least not so _suddenly_. 

“His cat,” says Luna. 

“I think ‘sleep with’ wasn’t the right choice of words in the context of this conversation, Luna,” says Harry, relieved. He remembers now that Malfoy has had a cat since he moved out of Malfoy Manor. 

“Hm,” says Luna thoughtfully. “Well, anyway, it’s up to you, but I think you’d both like it, and I really don’t think it’d hurt a thing. I’ll see you, Harry, I need to ask Lavender about her horoscopes for the Quibbler.” She kisses him on the cheek and heads off. 

Of course, when Luna has Lavender occupied, this leaves Malfoy alone. Where has Parvati got to? Where has _Ron_ got to? Where is anyone that could distract Harry from Malfoy sitting there alone and available for conversation, conversation that could involve asking him if maybe he wants to repeat the events of last time they were together?

Malfoy looks up and directly into his eyes. 

Harry swallows.

Malfoy smirks. 

Slowly, Malfoy gets up and walks over to Harry with purpose. The stare pinned on him reminds Harry too much of the look on Malfoy’s face while he watched him wank. Harry thinks _oh no_ and then doesn’t know why he should.

Malfoy doesn’t sit down. He just looks down at Harry and says, “Long time no see, Potter.” 

“Mm,” says Harry, and he looks at Malfoy staring down his nose like he’s so in charge and remembers the way it was last time, the way Malfoy lost it so fast and fucked his mouth. A smirk starts tugging at the corners of his mouth as he remembers Malfoy’s all talk. It may be embarrassing to talk about this with other people, but when it’s just the two of them here — Malfoy’s not scary. Malfoy’s _easy_. “Any particular reason you’re not sitting?” he asks.

“I like to be above you,” says Malfoy, and immediately a light blush stains his cheeks. All talk, and hardly.

Harry snorts. He looks back at Luna, who is very absorbed in whatever Lavender is saying as she points at a constellation. Ron and Hermione are talking softly by the desserts. Eyes meeting Malfoy’s again, he says, “I can arrange that, probably.”

“Can you?” says Malfoy, still blushing, his eyes darting around the rest of the group, at Luna and Lavender and Parvati, who has just returned from the house. But then he surprises Harry with, “At my place, maybe?” 

Harry was sure he’d be the one to ask. 

“I suppose,” says Harry, “I don’t have anything better to do.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes.

Harry grins. Easy. 

 

When they apparate into the flat, Harry blurts immediately, “I want you to fuck me.” 

“Well,” says Malfoy, blinking. “You get straight to the point.” 

“I thought we’d already sort of gotten to the point,” says Harry.

“I like it,” says Malfoy, surprising him again. 

Harry has only been to Malfoy’s flat once before. Malfoy hardly ever hosts anything, or at least not anything large enough for Harry to be invited. They see each other when lots of people get together, not during any kind of more intimate gathering. 

Well. Not until now, anyway.

Malfoy’s bedroom is something Harry has never seen; it is more mismatched than Harry might have expected, with many different sorts of bookshelves and an ornate desk, and a bed that takes up half the space. Felix the cat is incredibly offended when Malfoy shoos him off the bed and gets Harry in it instead.

They kiss for quite some time. Harry doesn’t know why, but he’s surprised by it. When Malfoy pushed him lightly onto the bed and crawled on top of him, Harry thought they were, as Malfoy’d said, getting straight to the point — but Malfoy just keeps kissing him and kissing him, fingers in his hair. He’s hard, obviously, and yet he’s doing nothing about it, and doing nothing about how hard Harry is. The sensations of Malfoy’s fingers in his hair and on his face, his tongue rough and warm against Harry’s, those are nice, but they’re not _enough_.

Harry gets impatient, and this impatience reminds him of what it was like with Malfoy last time, and this gives him a little thrill as he blurts out, “Are you going to fuck me any time soon?”

For a moment Harry worries he’s done something wrong — they have not laid this out yet, what they like, what they’re going to do together — but Malfoy tuts and says, “Haven’t you ever heard of foreplay?” with mischief in his eyes. 

“It doesn’t have to last an hour,” says Harry, emboldened by those eyes. 

“Don’t get fresh with me,” says Malfoy.

“What’ll you do to me?” asks Harry. “If I do?”

“Ugh,” says Malfoy, but he’s trying to hide a smile as he rocks his hips into Harry’s. “I like kissing,” he admits, and then he says, a little louder, as though he can drown out the last bit, “If you want to get fucked you’ll need to be good.”

“What do I need to do to be good?” Harry asks. “Kiss you?”

“Follow directions,” says Malfoy. “But you’ve always been terrible at that, haven’t you?”

“Depends on the direction,” says Harry. 

“Roll over.” 

Harry tries to think of something to say, but he’s been so impatient for this that he gives up quickly and just does it.

Malfoy’s breath catches a bit; Harry can hear it. “Right,” he says, and he takes Harry’s hips in his hands and says, “Budge up a bit. Your knees,” and Harry knows what he means and adjusts himself accordingly, scrambling onto his knees, keeping his elbows on the mattress. 

“Have you been fucked before?” Malfoy asks.

“Yes,” says Harry. 

Malfoy tugs Harry’s trousers and pants down swiftly, without ceremony, then says, “Have you ever — just — tell me if you don’t like this.” 

For a few seconds, Harry doesn’t know what he means — he’s asked to be fucked, hasn’t he, which is a pretty clear indicator he likes it — but then Malfoy’s mouth is on his arse. 

Harry has never done _this_ before. At first he’s not sure if he likes it or not, Malfoy’s tongue working him open, but slowly, as it goes on, he deduces that yes, he does — oh, wow, he does. He is breathing loud and harsh, his fingers gripping tightly to Malfoy’s rich purple sheets. Malfoy grips his arse, spreads him open wider, sucks, and Harry lets out a surprised moan. 

Malfoy removes his mouth with an embarrassing _smack_ of a sound and breathes, “You like it.” 

“Uh huh,” says Harry. His face feels hot. His whole body feels hot. He is embarrassed but not necessarily in a bad way, unsure of why it should be any different, somebody fucking him in the arse and somebody putting their mouth there for the same purpose. 

When Malfoy’s mouth gets back to work, Harry lets out another soft moan, pressing his face into the mattress, and it occurs to him this _is_ how he felt about getting fucked, the first few times — it felt very scandalous, somehow, and very up close and personal in a way that made him feel embarrassed, or if not really embarrassed, then shy. He comes to the same conclusion he did then, when Ginny had first produced the sex toy he knew she was going to buy but was still somehow startled to see — maybe it’s a little bit weird, but it feels so fucking good, he doesn’t care. 

Eventually, fingers get added to the mix. Harry has never been stretched and prepared to quite these lengths; it doesn’t seem necessary, really, yet Malfoy seems dead set on getting Harry all soft and melted into the mattress, hazy with pleasure and with the sharp want of more, to the point where he’s sighing and whimpering and pushing up into Malfoy without shame.

“You could come just like this,” Malfoy says, fucking Harry with his fingers, “Couldn’t you?” 

Harry could. He groans, “Malfoy.”

“I asked you a question.” 

Harry groans again. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I could.” 

“You could what?”

“Ugh, you prick — I could — I could come just — from this. Malfoy, I wanna come.”

“You want to come right now?” says Malfoy. “Before I’ve used my cock?”

Harry’s cock is so goddamn hard against the mattress it hurts. He wants to come so badly, but — Malfoy’s cock. He remembers it in his mouth. “I,” Harry says, and he clears his throat, feeling far too close to whining. “No.” 

“No?” says Malfoy, and he removes all contact. 

“No,” says Harry. He doesn’t move, despite the disappearance of Malfoy’s fingers and mouth. “I want…” He falters.

“What do you want, Potter?” asks Malfoy, and lightly he taps Harry’s arse, before asking, “Is that okay?”

“That’s okay,” Harry says, heart racing, “You can do it harder. And you can fuck me, any day now.” 

“Hey,” says Malfoy, and he smacks his arse a bit harder, and it’s good. “I said be good. And I asked you what you wanted — my fingers, my mouth, what?”

Harry knows what Malfoy wants him to say. He knows Malfoy has got a condom out. He wonders if he can get away with playing around with him anyway, if the desire to do so can win out over his desire to have Malfoy fucking him _now_. “I told you what I wanted,” Harry tries.

“You’ll have to be more _specific_ ,” says Malfoy. Harry doesn’t look at him but hears the tear as he opens the condom, ready for Harry to just _give in_ , assuming he will. 

Harry tries to think of something, anything, to keep teasing him, but upon adjusting himself on the mattress his erection drags against the sheets, and at the sharp relief he completely gives up and says, “I want your cock. I want your cock in me, Malfoy, okay?”

Malfoy breathes out in a little whistle and says, “Those are the magic words,” almost to himself, before slicking up his cock and giving Harry what he asked for.

He gets right into it, his fingers digging into Harry’s hips and waist, Harry pulling hard enough at the sheets that they’re coming off the mattress. 

Harry throws his head back and closes his eyes, just — taking it. It’s good. He thought Malfoy might be selfish like this, but he fucks him like he’s conscious of how Harry feels, asks how this and that is, works out Harry’s liking it rough and gives it to him hard and fast, nails hard in his skin the whole time. At one point he slows down, gets all gentle, but his fingers come up and grip Harry’s hair tightly, pulling a bit, and Harry focuses on that feeling, pushes his head up into Malfoy’s grip. 

“Come on, Malfoy,” he says. 

“You want it harder?” Malfoy asks, giving his hair a sharp tug. 

“Come on,” Harry repeats. 

“That’s not an answer,” says Malfoy, and he just stops moving, fumbling a bit with all the sweat on their bodies. “Do you want it harder, Potter? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want.” 

“Fuck,” says Harry, and Malfoy lets go of his hair and pulls out completely, though Harry suspects it was mostly to readjust himself.

“Fuck what?” says Malfoy, far too pleased with himself.

“Fuck me, Malfoy, hard, okay,” says Harry, and Malfoy full on cackles and slides back in, getting right back into it. 

“That’s — uh huh,” says Harry, overwhelmed by the feeling and the sound of skin slapping together.

“That was — alright,” Malfoy breathes, his voice jilting with the force of his thrusts. “This was alright, and all, but I wanna hear you — _really_ beg — though, okay, next time.” 

“Next time,” Harry says, then lets out a little gasp. “Next time you decide to be a dick during this — or next time you fuck me?”

Malfoy slaps his arse again, making Harry hiss with pleasure, then lets that hand come to hold onto Harry’s hip again, the other still gripping hard onto Harry’s hair. “I’ll fuck you again if you beg me to,” Malfoy gasps, sounding more out of control than he has all night. “Oh, fuck, I’m going to come. You feel so good. Fuck. Next time you’re going to beg me — for it,” he says, his words slurring a little, and he keeps thrusting hard into Harry as he comes, pulling so hard on Harry’s hair that tears spring into Harry’s eyes. 

“Jesus, Malfoy,” Harry gasps, and Malfoy lets go of his hair, runs his fingernails instead down Harry’s back as he finishes. 

When Malfoy pulls out and collapses on his back next to Harry, taking the condom off and wrinkling his nose a bit, he says, belatedly, breathlessly, “Jesus yourself,” then, “You haven’t come. Roll over again.” 

Harry thinks about being difficult, but Malfoy’s come already, and it’s only Harry’s erection that would suffer, so he rolls over.

After a moment Malfoy clambers over and settles between Harry’s legs, and Harry expects Malfoy to make him beg or something, with the way he was going on about it while he fucked him, but he just gets his mouth around Harry’s cock without preamble. Harry lets out a loud sigh and closes his eyes, enjoying this feeling; his body is sore and hot and wound up tight, but there is a warm, wet mouth around his cock, and his toes are curling into the softness of the mattress, and then he’s coming with a little gasp, and Malfoy swallows it all, and god, Harry hasn’t come like that in forever, it feels like, hard and like he’s been on the edge forever, wrung out with pleasure and relief. 

Malfoy squeezes his thigh, for some reason, then rolls off the bed and stretches. Harry watches him stretch his arms over his head and stand up on his toes a bit. He’s very thin and very bony and he’s barely got an arse, but he’s handsome, he really is, and Harry admits he has no complaints at all about his dick.

Luna was right. This is good. 

Malfoy tosses himself into his desk chair, pushes open the window, and lights a cigarette with a lazy wave of his hand. After a drag, he says, “You are full of surprises, Potter.”

“Am I?” says Harry, not moving from the bed. He feels very pleasantly boneless, and it feels less weird than he might have imagined to lie there in Malfoy’s bed, smelling of Malfoy and sex. He reckons it might be rude of Malfoy not to offer him a cigarette as well, but he doesn’t smoke, so it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t mind that kind of rudeness, the kind associated with proper manners. He hardly ever notices it. 

“I was sure you’d want to fuck me,” says Malfoy.

“I mean, I’m not opposed to it,” says Harry, and Malfoy laughs. 

There is a stretching at the door and a pathetic little mewl. Malfoy rolls his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake. Pervert cat. If I’d left the door open he’d have watched.”

“He wouldn’t have _understood_ ,” says Harry, but he admits pets watching you have sex is a bit weird.

“I don’t care if he’s thinking of nothing but catnip, I don’t want him just staring. Or worse, leaping on the bed.”

Harry snorts. 

For a long, quiet moment, Malfoy smokes and Harry lies contentedly in the sheets, and then Harry says, absently scratching his hip, “Next time you _could_ give a bit more warning before tonguing my arse.” 

Malfoy coughs loudly; Harry apparently timed this mid-drag, not on purpose. “But then I have to _say those words_ ,” Malfoy says when he’s through with his coughing fit. 

“So you don’t mind actually putting your tongue in my arse, but you don’t want to say it.” 

“‘Can I lick your arse’ is an awful thing to say to someone,” Malfoy groans.

“Well if you’re going to _do_ it,” says Harry. 

Malfoy’s eyes get, unexpectedly, solemn. “Did I do something you didn’t want?” he asks. 

“No,” says Harry. “You didn’t. And I would have told you if I didn’t like it.”

“Mm,” says Malfoy. “Even so, if we’re going to — keep doing this, we should probably talk — boundaries. We probably should have done it already.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s been fine,” he says. 

“Still,” says Malfoy. He ashes his cigarette out the window. “If we’re going to — keep on _in the same fashion_ — I can get a bit — carried away.” He looks out the window and not at Harry.

“If you’re going to boss me about, you mean,” says Harry.

“Well, you seem to like that,” Malfoy says, and there’s no reason for him to sound testy, but he does.

“I do,” says Harry. “And so do you.”

“Yes, which is why I am telling you I can get carried away,” says Malfoy sharply. “So I need to know your boundaries. For example, you liked, er — me hitting your arse.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, for the first time feeling a bit embarrassed about it. “I don’t think I want to be, you know, _smacked around_ , though. Just there, that’s the only bit that feels, uh, you know. Sexy.” He covers his eyes with his hands, for no good reason. 

“Okay,” says Malfoy simply. 

“I like, you know,” Harry continues, eyes still covered. “Getting fucked, and all. I’m not delicate. I liked when you, ah, you know. Fucked my mouth. I like getting my hair pulled. Um, obviously I liked it when you, uh. You know. Came on me. I like that sort of thing. A bit rough. What we’ve done is about as rough as I’ve done, though.” 

“Okay,” Malfoy says again. “We should talk about — talking, too.” 

“I like you bossing me,” Harry admits. “Don’t ever tell _anyone_ I said that.” 

He can _hear_ Malfoy’s smirk when he says, “I figured as much. Your secret’s safe with me, Potter. How do you feel about — calling you names?”

“What, like — calling me a slut, or whatever?” says Harry. He uncovers his eyes and looks at Malfoy. 

Malfoy puts out the cigarette on his windowsill and vanishes it. “Yes,” he says, avoiding eye contact. 

“I don’t know,” Harry says honestly. “We could try it, maybe.”

Shiftily, Malfoy says, “Okay,” then, after a pause, during which he taps anxiously at the windowsill, “You’ll tell me right away if you don’t like something.”

“Yes,” says Harry. “And you will, too, yeah?”

“Yeah, obviously,” says Malfoy, finally looking back at him. He fishes around his desk for something, perhaps another cigarette. “I don’t do things I don’t want to do.” The way he’s looking at Harry when he says it seems filled with meaning. 

Harry apparates home feeling sore but lighter than he has in quite some time.


End file.
